


Repercussions of Survival

by EveSpring, SaltyCostumer



Series: Let Your Arrow Fly [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-05 19:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11585028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveSpring/pseuds/EveSpring, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltyCostumer/pseuds/SaltyCostumer
Summary: Phil Coulson refuses to follow Nick Fury's orders and stay officially "dead".Written partially fix the fact that Coulson not telling the Avengers he isn't dead has always seemed wildly OOC to me.This story is set considerably after the earlier stories in the series.   EveSpring and I plan on going back and fill in the gaps, but in the meantime, enjoy this story as part of the series, or as a stand alone.





	1. Compromised

“In that case, I have no choice but to tender my resignation.” Coulson said, somewhat surprised by how even his voice sounded. Not at all like a man who was running a very real chance of giving up a career that he loved.

“Dammit, Coulson,” Fury said, the power of his glare in no way diminished by the missing eye, “I am doing this because your behavior with Loki shows that your judgement regarding the Avengers is compromised. Because it shows that your judgement regarding Romanov and Barton is compromised. And I am not going to let you get yourself killed because of your compromised judgement.”

Coulson took a breath. He had predicted that Fury would use this particular line of argument, and he’d prepared a counter argument. “Sir, with respect, I took a calculated risk.”

“What you did was go after a god with an untested weapon,” Fury snapped. “And were too focused on getting revenge for Barton to tell that Loki was behind you, instead of being in front of you.”

“Yes, that would be the calculated risk.” Coulson replied, “Yes, I was taken in by Loki’s illusion. But, with respect, so was Loki’s own brother. If you want to pull me as the SHIELD liaison with the Avengers, I will respect that. If you want to find someone else to handle Barton and Romanov, again, that is your choice. But what I will not do is allow my team, allow the people I have worked with for years, to continue to think that I am dead.”

Fury snorted “And you think that either Barton or Romanov would accept another handler once they know you’re alive?”

“With respect, sir, that is not my concern at the moment. My concern is maintaining the trust that I have built up with my team. With my teams. If and when they find out that I am alive, and eventually, they will find out, that trust will be damaged beyond all hope of repair. Not to mention the damage that will be done to their relationship with SHIELD, and potentially the Avengers Initiative as well.” Not to mention the fact that there was no way that he was going to live the rest of his life without seeing Clint again; without holding him, without telling him things that should have been said years ago. Not that Fury would consider any of that a compelling reason for Coulson to come back from the dead.

Fury glared at Coulson again, and Coulson noticed that the tiny vein on the side of his neck had started throbbing. This was...not a good sign, and Coulson began to mentally calculate the distance from his chair to the door, and how quickly he could get out of his chair when Fury said “Fine. I’ll let you come back from the dead. This time. And I’ll let you go back to what you had been doing. This time. But if you ever, ever show any sign of engaging in reckless behavior because your judgement is compromised, I will transfer your ass to the mail room. Am I clear, Coulson?”

Coulson nodded in agreement, and not bothering to disguise the relief in his voice said, “Crystal clear, sir. Thank you. With your permission, I’ll schedule a briefing to inform everyone.”

Fury gave a swift, sharp nod, and waved Coulson to the door. Just as his hand reached the knob, Fury spoke again, his voice disturbingly cheerful, “Oh, Coulson one more thing. Barton is out on a mission. He isn’t scheduled back until Friday. As a reward for not being a good boy and staying dead when I told you too, you can tell Barton that you’re alive. In person. Book a hotel room; I don’t want the SHIELD offices trashed if he doesn’t react well to the news.”


	2. Clandestine Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming back from a mission, Clint is invited to a meeting in a hotel room. Suspicious but unwilling to let this mystery meeting go, he shows up at the hotel.

His back hurt. That was okay; he knew his new handler didn’t like him. He knew that there were many people who blamed him for… All of it, even though officially, he had been cleared of any guilt or wrongdoing. Well, officially he might not be considered responsible, but that didn’t change the minds and hearts of those who had lived through the battle in New York, who had lost too much to it. Clint blamed himself, too.

So Sitwell had put him through his paces, and declared him clear to return to active duty. The shrink they’d forced him to go see had said he was making ‘progress’. He knew what a shrink wanted to hear, and watching her, he knew how to fake the very progress she gave him credit for, how to adjust his answers, slowly over time, to convince her that he was dealing properly. 

But the truth of the matter was that he wasn’t dealing with it well, or properly, at all. 

He had gotten the man he loved killed. The man who had seen something more than just an archer with a mouth on him, who had recruited him into SHIELD, and even taken him on as a specialist and given him actual real respect, had treated him like a member of the team rather than the new guy who couldn’t be trusted. And Clint had killed him. 

Loki had made his demands, and yes, Clint had fought as hard as he could against fulfilling them, but… He had known where Phil was. That he’d be be on the damn Helicarrier, and Clint knew full well he’d fight, it was _Phil_. And Clint had unleashed an Asgardian god (of fucking _Mischief_ ) on the Helicarrier, knowing Phil was there. Knowing he was placing Phil in danger’s path. 

Clint hated himself. He hated Loki, he blamed Loki, but he also hated and blamed himself. 

So now, he was crammed into a horribly positioned nest, looking out and waiting for the target to come into sight, cold, soaked to the bone, shivering and working to not let his teeth chatter in the goddamned wind that had kicked up over the last half hour.

*******

The mission was, of course, a success. Hawkeye did not miss, and while his team wasn’t Black Widow or the Avengers, they managed to get his target where he needed to be, and bug out before any heat came their way. The whole damn op would have gone smoother if Agent Morris would have listened to him about where he needed to be. Because, yeah, mission would have been hours shorter, if not a day. He’d have been able to take the shot without anyone’s faces being seen. But no, Agent Barton, the nest is _here_ and…

His after action report was a shoddy, half assed piece of shit, and if Morris didn’t like it, well, he could just eat the fucking thing, because fuck him, and fuck the idiot team, and… He had gotten back, filed his damn report, (three hours late, but Morris should be glad that he’d filed it at all) and found a memo waiting for him. 

It had been waiting for him in his mailbox, sitting for who knew how long. He’d been gone a week. A week for a simple milk run. Stupid. Just stupid. Anyway, it had been waiting for him, a request for a meeting. Off SHIELD grounds, oddly enough. No name, no reason, nothing official as far as Clint could tell. He’d asked the inter-office mail room who it had come from, but no one could tell him anything. Great.

So he went back to his bunk on the property, showered, drank a glass of water, and dressed in his combat gear. The request had been delivered via SHIELD, but Clint had plenty of enemies in the organization after the events with Loki, and he didn’t put all of them above an underhanded assassination. 

So he took the key card for the hotel, and he went, sneaking past security, making sure none of the employees spotted him, and stood next to the provided room’s door for a long moment prior to moving in front of the peephole, debating whether he wanted to take the chance that someone just put a bullet in his head before he got the door open.

He found, after a long, introspective moment, that he didn’t really care or mind, so he went ahead and unlocked the door quietly, moving into the room as silent as a mouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next two chapters are going to be from SaltyCostumer! Enjoy! <3


	3. Only mostly dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint finds out that Phil is alive. Things do not go well, and then they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for the kudos and subscriptions! There will be one more chapter from Phil's POV, and then EveSpring is going to have an epilogue written from Clint's POV. After that, well, we have lots of plans both for future adventures, and for filling in the past.

Phil Coulson sat in a chair, staring at the door. There was a book on his lap, and every few minutes he turned his attention to it, trying to force his mind to pay attention to the words. To do more than fret over what was happening next. Then he went back to staring at the door. Wondering what would happen when Clint walked through it.

Oh, Phil knew what he was going to say, he just had no idea how Clint would react. In all the time they’d been together, neither one of them had ever felt the need to have a big emotional talk where they defined their relationship. That was one of the advantages of being with a man - neither one of you had been raised with the idea that every part of a relationship needed to be talked to death, so if a relationship was working, you could just let it work. At least, that was what he’d always told himself when he got the urge to start talking to Clint about how he felt. 

 

The downside, of course, was that he honestly didn’t know how it would go down when he told Clint that he loved him. On the one hand, he was pretty sure that Clint knew. They’d spent almost every Christmas together, for a start. Every time they got leave, they spent at least part of it together. A couple of times a month, at least, Clint would come over to his place to eat pizza and drink beer, and stay the night. The official story was that it happened because by the time they’d finish trading stories it’d be two in the morning and both of them would be drunk, and Clint would opt to crash on the couch. Phil would even make up a bed there, to maintain plausible deniability. There was also the fact that neither of them had dated, or, to the best of his knowledge, slept with anyone else since they’d gotten together. That was a big thing, right there. 

On the other hand, he knew that telling Clint how he felt would change things between them. And he wasn’t positive that Clint wanted things to change. Well, he knew that Clint thought it was “a bunch of bullshit” that Natasha was still the only one who knew they were together. But Clint had never met a regulation that he didn’t think was bullshit, so that wasn’t exactly a clear indication of anything. It especially wasn’t a clear indication that Clint wanted more than what they already had. Particularly when what they had was good. And worked. Which was why Phil had kept his mouth shut.

 

It was why part of him was tempted to keep it shut. Part of him just wanted to tell Clint he was alive, and then go back to the way things had been before. But Phil knew he couldn’t do that. Couldn’t do it for the very simple reason that when he’d been laying there, waiting to bleed out, he’d realized that the one regret he had was that he hadn’t told Clint that he loved him. That he hadn’t taken the chance to say the words; to let Clint know that he was the center of Phil’s world. So even if it was a terrible idea, he was going to tell Clint that he loved him. With words. First, though, he had to tell Clint that he was alive. Which was likely to be rather explosive. The only question was how explosive it was going to be.

Phil was so lost in thought, contemplating the possible size of the explosion, that he almost didn’t hear the lock click. He stayed sitting down as Clint entered the room, not wanting to do anything that might startle Clint. Hands resting lightly on his thighs, posture relaxed. Because startling Clint was a very good way to end up with an arrow in you. Or a knife. Or a bullet. But probably an arrow. And he’d been impaled enough this year, thank you.

“You’re dead,” Clint said, the shock in his voice almost palpable, “Fury told us you were dead. There was a funeral and; this isn’t real. You’re an LMD. Because Phil Coulson died. He died six months ago. Because if Phil was alive, he’d have damn well told me!”

“I’m telling you now,” Phil replied, “Fury - he knew that the Avengers needed something to pull them together.” That Clint needed something to focus on other than his guilt, but that wasn’t a wound he wanted to rip open right now. “Telling everyone that I was dead seemed like the best way to do that. It wasn’t even a lie, technically. It was only for about thirty seconds, during surgery, but I did die.” He forced a smile, quoting a movie they both liked, “But I was only mostly dead. Afterwards, once I woke up from the coma,” Phil kept talking, needing Clint to understand what had happened, that it hadn’t been his idea to hurt him like that, “I was out of it, and it was a SHIELD medical facility,” which they both knew meant no communication with the outside world. “Fury told me that you were undercover, it wasn’t until I got out that I found out. I’m sorry, Clint.”

As he spoke, something in Clint’s face started to shift, moving from angry disbelief to reluctant consideration. In a few strides, Clint crossed the room and stood in front of Phil, looking him over intently, evaluating. Phil forced himself to sit there, not moving, trying to keep his body language relaxed, knowing that Clint was on edge, and not wanting to do anything to push him too far. 

“Tell me something that only Coulson would know.” Clint said, after a moment that lasted an eternity, “And not some bullshit like how I like waffles, or drink coffee out of the pot. I want something that Phil Coulson would never tell anyone. Not even Fury. Not even if he was helping Fury make a LMD good enough to fool me.”

Phil had been expecting something like this, and he had his answer ready. “You were giving that beer bottle a handjob,” he replied. It was something that they’d playfully bickered over in the years since the safehouse. Phil taking the position that there was no way that Clint could have been fidgeting in that suggestive of a manner by accident. And Clint -

“I was not. I was just fidgeting. You have a dirty mind,” Clint replied, repeating his usual response before his brain caught up with his mouth. An instant later, he grabbed on to Phil’s shirt, pulling the other man to his feet, and capturing his mouth in a rough kiss. “You asshole.” he growled against Phil’s mouth, “You’ve been alive all this fucking time, and you let me think you were dead.”

“I’m sorry,” it was inadequate, but it was the only possible response, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that Fury had told you I was dead until I got out of the hospital, and went to talk to him about about going back to work. If I’d have know, I would have gotten a message to you. But I’m back now.”

“Good,” Clint said, his voice still a growl, “because you are never going to die on me again.” Then he was kissing Phil, hands reaching down to untuck his shirt.

Phil returned the kiss with equal intensity. For the moment all of his plans to talk, all the things he’d been intending to say vanished, washed away by a wave of pure need. Need to hold, need to touch, need to kiss and taste and love. Savoring Clint’s body as the pain of the last few months was forgotten in the joy of just being.


	4. I love you.  I know.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil finally says "I love you" Clint doesn't react like you'd expect.

In the end, Phil still chickened out. He’d meant to explain to Clint about how when he was laying there dying, that his only regret had been that he’d never made his feelings explicit. He’d had a big speech planned out about how precious Clint was, how their relationship was the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

A speech he’d planned on delivering sometime in between telling Clint he was alive and having sex with Clint. Clearly, he should have remembered that no mission plan lasted for very long when it depended on Agent Barton doing entirely what you expected him to do. Now, with the two of them laying in bed, relaxed and happy, after he’d just been showing Clint how much he was loved, now didn’t seem like the time to ruin the mood with big speeches and drama.

So instead, he just said it, softly, against the side of Clint’s cheek. Three seconds after he’d said “I love you” for the first time, he found himself pinned to the bed, with Barton looking down at him, stony faced except for the anger behind his eyes. Coulson knew that face; It was a face he’d seen a handful of times over the years, when Barton had personal as well as professional reasons for eliminating a target. “Who are you?” Clint demanded, “What are you? You’re good. You had me fooled. Right up until you said something he’d never say. Talk.”

When he’d been gaming out all the different ways that Clint might react, this had not been on the list. “Stand down, Agent Barton,” he said, hoping that the order would buy him enough time to talk. “I know I haven’t said it before,” he said looking up at Clint, “When I was dying, when I thought I’d never see you again, that was the only regret I had. That I’d never told you that I love you. That in all the time we’ve been together, with everything we’ve been through, I hadn’t said the words. That I hadn’t made absolutely sure that you knew. Then I woke up in the hospital. Once I did, well, I wanted to fix that. I had to fix that. This is me, Clint. I love you. You’re the person I love. Our relationship is the best thing that I’ve ever had, and I love you.”

“Took you long enough to say it,” Clint said, glaring down at him. But the glare was different now; Affectionate exasperation instead of possible homicide. 

“I know,” Phil said, “I just thought that you knew. And I’m not a fan of big, emotional relationship talks. But I do love you.”

“I did know,” Clint said, “Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to hear you say it.”

“I love you,” Phil repeated. “I love you so much.”

“Are you sure you’re really Phil Coulson?” Clint asked again, but this time his tone was teasing.

“Positive. Do I need to prove it to you?”

“You might,” Clint said, grinning down at him, “How were you going to prove it?”

Phil didn’t say anything, but he proved it. By doing something that only Phil Coulson would know about.


	5. Four Letter Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes Clint long enough, but after nearly a week, he's finally able to say it back to Phil. It's a relief for both of them.

There are a lot of four letter words in the English language. Some of them were easy for Clint to think about, to say; hate, fuck, damn, shit, hell… Easy. Some were harder, but he’d use them sometimes: hope, pray, care. Not impossible. But the L word? Used in a throwaway statement about an item, it wasn’t so hard. He loved to shoot. He loved his bow, and the arrows that Stark had made for him. He loved being an Avenger. 

Things got a whole lot more difficult when you threw _people_ into the mix. Take Natasha. Clint adored her, he cared about her, and he would take a bullet for the woman. She was his partner, his friend, one of the few stable things in his life was the relationship he shared with her. But he’d never said that word to her. Hell, he hadn’t said it to his older brother since he’d been… Really little. He didn’t think about it, but he never spoke that word, not to a person. 

That was just how Clint was. And he had always been certain that Phil sort of was just the same way. They’d never said the words, but Clint knew that Phil loved him, and while Clint had never said it, Phil had to know that he loved him, too. The words, saying it out loud, it wasn’t necessary. 

People he loved had a habit of disappearing or dying. Of leaving, one way or another. It had been one issue he’d had to face when Phil had died. He hadn’t said the words, but Clint had loved Phil, and Phil had died nonetheless. It wasn’t that Clint had thought that by not saying it out loud that he was protecting Phil, or himself. He wasn’t crazy. Besides that, he was the one who had gotten Phil ‘killed’ (but not killed, thank god).

Hearing Phil say ‘I love you’ the first time had been terrifying. They had just had sex, and it was great sex, it was ‘Welcome home, I’ve missed you so much, let me show you how much, I love you and please don’t die on me again’ sex. Sex, and then snuggling, and Clint had been on cloud 9, feeling whole again for the first time in months. And then all of the sudden, Phil was murmuring that word to him.

Phil wouldn’t just do that. Especially not out of the blue. Clint had panicked, in retrospect, he could recognize that. It had been an entirely unexpected admission, and not one that Clint had been prepared for, not ever, not from Phil. They knew, and that was enough, right? So Clint overreacted. Really, come on, it wasn’t totally unreasonable for him to overreact to something like that, happening so out of the blue, right after he’d found out that the man who had become his whole universe and who had supposedly died six months prior, was still alive. But okay, so maybe accusing him of being an LMD was a little… Much. Just a little. 

And Clint didn’t say that word, not to people. Because that made it real, what he felt. What Phil felt. What they had. Saying it made it real, and when something was real, you could lose it, it could be taken away, and that wasn’t something that Clint could just accept. This, Phil, wasn’t something he could lose. It wasn’t something he could survive being taken away.

Day two after Phil saying The Words, Clint was on a mission with Nat (and Phil), crammed into a tiny alcove, watching Nat make a drop, and hearing Phil’s voice in his ear. Except that Phil wasn’t actually speaking at the moment. Shit, shit shit! Three words, and they echoed through his brain, even now, with his bow half drawn, following Nat, covering her as she moved, all he could hear past the rush of blood in his ears was that soft murmur of ‘I love you.’ 

Fuck him, Phil’s admission was going to be his undoing. It ate at his focus, clouded his vision, distracted him from reality, because all he could hear were those words, all he could feel was the soft covers on the bed, all he could see were those blue eyes, so earnest… At least he didn’t mess up the mission. Nat made the drop, Phil called them back, and they headed in. It had been a shockingly smooth op, thank goodness, because Clint sure as hell knew that his head hadn’t been in the game.

It had been day four when Clint had decided that he needed to say it back. That this wasn’t fair to Phil. Phil had taken the step, he had said the words, more than once, holy fuck he had, he had said it over and over again, and Clint had just… He’d said he knew. Really? Jesus Christ, he was an asshole. He had to say it. It had taken him most of the rest of the day to decide that no, doing this at SHIELD headquarters wouldn’t be appropriate. And then he considered the other possibilities. Dinner? No, he didn’t want Phil to think he was kissing up. Wait a while for another date night? No, because Clint wanted to do it. Phil didn’t deserve to be made to wait.

On the fifth day after Phil had said he loved him, Clint got all the way to the apartment, paced up and down the hallway for an hour, and then left, silent as a ghost. Yes, he was aware he was a complete chicken shit. It shouldn’t be this hard, damn it. Phil had already said it, saying it back should be easy! So why couldn’t he do it?

Leaning against the corner to Phil’s apartment, just out of sight, Clint considered his previous actions that day a week before. “I love you so much.” Those words, and something in Clint had all but broken. 

He hadn’t said it back. Six days, and he still hadn’t said it back. He hated himself for it. For not having said it right there and then. It was true, after all; he did love Phil Coulson. 

He had to tell him.

Now.

Usually, when Clint went to Phil’s apartment, it was because Phil had invited him over. That wasn’t the case today, but Phil loved him, he’d understand. This, this was important. It had taken Clint six days, but now that he’d made his decision, he burned with the need to say the words to Phil. He knocked, and once Phil opened the door, Clint smiled shyly to him, “I love you.”

He didn’t expect to get pulled inside, but he didn’t fight Phil’s grasp, either, moving forward as he was pulled into the apartment. 

“I know you do. But thank you for saying it anyway. I like hearing it.”

Clint’s smile grew, and he told Phil again, this time more confidently, “I love you. You can’t leave me like that again, Phil. I’m sorry, about… You know. I love you.” And before Phil could agree, or disagree, or argue, Clint leaned forward and kissed him greedily. He liked hearing the words, too, but right now, he didn’t need to. He had needed to speak them, to make sure Phil knew without a doubt that Clint loved him. And now that he had done that, Clint just wanted to show Phil how true those words were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I speak for both myself and SaltyCostumer when I say that!
> 
> Any comments or kudos are appreciated, always!


End file.
